


We Were Strangers

by hurtroad



Category: Day6 (Band), F. T. Island, IZ (Band), N.Flying (Band), ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, End of the World, F/M, M/M, No Fluff, Plague, Survival Horror, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurtroad/pseuds/hurtroad
Summary: The world is falling apart. As a deadly plague rips through mankind, and as people from all backgrounds deal with the overwhelming losses that have come with the sickness, shelter won't be the key to survival. It'll be bonds they make or break. Even with strangers.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Park Jaehyung | Jae
Kudos: 7





	1. prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for clicking on my story! I really hope you will enjoy it! I do want to put a few disclaimers and trigger/content warnings out there before you proceed to keep you safe.
> 
> This story obviously will have themes and content that could be disturbing, graphic, and even triggering to some people, so if you're bothered by any of the following, please don't continue reading:  
> death (there's going to be a lot of this here, like, A LOT)  
> guns  
> suicidal ideation  
> murder
> 
> Also, just so y'all know, this is going to be a Day6 centric story, at least in the beginning and with regards to the romantic relationships. 
> 
> I'll put more trigger warnings on chapters where it might be more heavy than others, but just be aware of that.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

No one thought it would happen that way.

In his mind, there remained a picture of the story—the way things should go. Growing old. Complaining about his aching bones, wondering why the milk goes bad so fast, yelling at whoever his partner would be for leaving the light switch on after leaving a room. That’s how everyone pictured it. The true story.

The air was cold that night. It shouldn’t have been. Several bodies decorated the streets, fire and smoke billowing into the atmosphere in the distance. From afar, the sight was hauntingly beautiful. He caught himself staring in awe. His face reflected against the glass window. Eyes once full of light turned dark. The stench of rotting flesh and burning fuel penetrated the walls of the house and made his head spin. The vision fogged over, the smoke from lootings and fire making everything harder to see. 

“I think we need to run,” his father spoke as he packed some water bottles into a duffle bag. “It’s only a matter of time before they make it over here.”

“No. The—the fire. The light of it attracts them. We’re fine here,” his mom argued as she halted from chewing on her fingernails. They were both right. Staying—lying in wait—it was just a death sentence. But who knew what was coming next. 

That was the toughest pill to swallow about the real story was that nothing was safe anymore. No  _ one,  _ no  _ place,  _ no  _ thing.  _ Nothing. Every step taken was a step on eggshells.

He looked back out the window. 

“Stop that,” scolded his mom, quickly swiping the curtains closed and pulling her son towards her. He exchanged glances with her, then his dad. No one seemed to know what to do. Everything felt like a death sentence. 

“I think we should go,” the boy spoke softly. His eyes fluttered between his parents, both who looked lost, broken, defeated. “We need more food. We can find someone who has more, maybe trade stuff with them, I don’t—”

“We’re  _ staying _ . This is non-negotiable.” His mother walked away from him, back towards the couch and lied down. “I’ll keep watch down here if I have to.”

His father threw the bag down on the floor before beginning to pace around the room. All that lit up the room was the dim lamp in the corner. His father looked ominous, intimidating, in the warmly lit room. He felt afraid of them. Like they were putting him at risk. Their bickering, their constant disagreement—he was an  _ adult.  _ And he acted more like one than his own guardians. 

His dad stormed out and back up the steps. The boy could hear him settle into bed. He waited for the sound of the floor creaking above him to cease, then walked over toward his mother. The thoughts whirling around his head—thoughts that he usually could set aside, thoughts about this being the last time he’d see her face—made his stomach churn and tears threaten to fall from his eyes. He knew in his gut that night.

“I’m gonna get some rest too, mom.” He kneeled before her, planting a tender kiss on her head. “I love you.”

It was the last time.

As soon as the noise outside seemed to quiet down, he crept downstairs, back into the darkness of the main floor. If the looting was still going on, the smoke from fires had covered all the light from entering the living room. 

The kitchen, though, was as normal as ever. It was as if things never changed in there since things went awry. Photos stuck to the refrigerator by decorative magnets. Garbage bin almost overflowing. He walked to the counter, right where the key hooks remained. He grabbed the keychain that was his, always his—on it was the key to the house, front and back door, and his car key.

Outside was hauntingly quiet, but for some reason was more peaceful than inside the home. He felt  _ free  _ outside. In the few moments he stood out there, just looking at the landscape, the feeling of the fresh air cleansing his lungs—he thought, maybe it was a dream. He looked down at his bare arms, the skin protecting his bone and muscle, and pinched. Hard. Pinched so hard that he bled. He looked back out, the subtle noises in the distance fading into a painful ringing in his head. He wiped the streak of blood from his arm and started towards the car.

The engine started as normal, but the radio was nothing but static and white noise. The sound was deafening. He immediately switched to the CD button, where an old Fall Out Boy album began to spin and bleed through the speakers. As Patrick Stump’s voice blared throughout the vehicle, he drove away. He made sure not to look back. He just focused on the road stretched out in front of him. 

He never looked back.


	2. is there somewhere?

There was something hauntingly comforting about the whole situation.

There was a distant fire blazing, lighting up the small space surrounding it. He felt tempted to go towards it. Towards light—just like the  _ Walkers _ .

They  _ loved  _ light. You would think they would be more accustomed to the nighttime the way bats and racoons are. More leeway to attack, no one to spy on you and see your every move in broad daylight. People are more vulnerable. But no, they loved light.

They loved the light the way Brian loved the haunting comfort. Being alone was the last thing anyone would want given the state of the universe at the time, but for Brian— _ finally,  _ he was alone.

He had become a nomad once things began to settle in. Most people panicked when the beginning of the end had crept upon mankind. People were terrified to lose their lives. Those lives they complained about every day—suddenly, they wanted it back. The seven o’clock alarms and rush hour traffic. But he could escape.

He ignored the fire and kept on. 

The sound of Brian’s car became music to his ears as the rumbling of the engine blocked out the sounds of the Walkers moans and groans. He had learned every single word of every single song on the CDs his parents had left behind. In particular, the  _ Theatre of Pain  _ CD by Motley Crue had become almost entirely worn out. But he figured, if a Walker decided to make themselves at home in his vehicle, break the thing in half and end their misery.

There’s no character to the sky above him. It’s a faded blue-grey—no clouds, no sun, no birds. It reflected the way things had become—dead _. _

He put in a Green Day CD as he drove down the dirt road. He played the music softly so Walkers wouldn’t hear. He focuses on the music, trying to keep his eyes off the few Walkers that were littered around the area. A large, open field stretched across his left side, and on the right, stands what he had assumed to be an abandoned neighborhood. 

As he started to turn onto the main stretch of the road, he heard screams. Not just those guttural hisses and moans from the Walkers, but a  _ live,  _ a  _ young  _ scream. There was a human nearby. 

He parked his car on the road, taking a stronghold of his knife. He prepared himself to kill anything that posed a threat, even the source of the screams. If there was one thing Brian was beginning to learn since the start of it all, it was to never trust anyone.

The screams were coming from just ahead of him on the side of the road. A puddle of blood had surrounded the body that continued to let out sounds of agony and misery. Brian approached slowly, steadily, keeping his focus on the knife in his hand. As he got closer to the source, it was a short-stacked, obviously younger boy. His leg was wrapped in a thick amount of cloth, which was stained red. 

“H-Help—”

“I’m gonna help you. ‘Kay?” Brian inched closer, keeping his distance in case the boy decided to pounce. He noticed the boy tense up at the sight of the knife in Brian’s grip. Brian dropped it on the pavement. “What happened?”

The boy inhaled a deep breath before speaking. “I got shot. Some assholes just drove by and got me, they must’ve thought I was a Rotter or something.”

Brian kneeled, taking a closer look at the wound. It  _ smelled.  _

“Okay. Can you stand?” Brian asked as he grabbed his knife and put it back in its sleeve. The boy winced as he pushed himself off the ground. Brian wrapped the boy’s arm around his own shoulders as they slowly walked back towards the car. The music was still flooding from the cracks of the windows. Brian felt embarrassed for a fleeting moment, listening to Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

The boy heaved in heavy, slow breaths, and Brian could tell he was trying not to let out any loud noises. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Brian asked, trying to spark up some conversation. He realized though that this boy was probably in no mood to be talking when he had a gaping hole in his leg.

“It’s Dowoon,” he replied.

“Cool.”

More silence.

“There’s houses over there,” the boy explained as he pointed to his right. “I was going over there then I got shot. I think I saw some light coming from over there.”

Brian made a turn to the right, through a small tunnel of trees looming overhead. The sun tried its best to peek through the branches and shine on them. It was beginning to grow into nighttime, and still, the dead sky wouldn’t drop its guard to give what was left of mankind a nice sunset to look at. Nonetheless, despite the few Walkers that lingered around, the sight was rather beautiful. Again, a calming, haunting comfort.

Driving became more difficult as they entered the neighborhood. Bodies littered the street, along with debris of all sorts. Brian would have been shocked if there were anyone in any of the houses.

“You stay here. I’m gonna find some gauze or something,” Brian said in a low, husky voice. “If any of the Dead Ones pose any sort of threat, just scream. And here—“ Brian took that Motley Crue CD out of the middle compartment and snapped it in two. “You can stab them with this.”

Then he was off. He made sure to lock the doors behind him. He didn’t know Dowoon, except for that he was a tough boy for trying to live through a bullet to the thigh, but either way, he wanted to protect him. 

Brian checked the houses. He skipped the ones that looked like they had been inhabited by Walkers, or the ones that were burned to the ground, which was most of them. Most of them had already been ransacked.

One smaller house that looked more worn down and barren stood towards the end of the road. It was boarded up. No windows to peek through. 

It was obvious someone was in there.

Brian wasn’t sure, though, but tried anyway. 

He knocked a few times, waited, to no avail.

He let out a shallow sigh before taking another good look around the house. The area around it was clean. There weren’t any bodies or trash lying around. Brian tried once more, this time, knocking quickly three times, then slowly three more times, then quickly three times. He heard the floor creak inside.

He grabbed a hold of his knife. The person behind the door was just as prepared as Brian was—he pointed a large rifle right at Brian’s face.

Brian put his hands up, keeping the knife in his hands. The guy behind the gun nodded towards the blade, gesturing for Brian to drop it. This surely wasn’t his first rodeo, having to stare down the barrel of a gun. It was how people made conversation with one another nowadays.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Brian repeated with a soft voice. “I just need a little help.”

The guy scanned Brian up and down. Despite the giant gun in his grip, he didn’t look that intimidating. He was shorter than Brian. He had a stout build. He sported a plain, blue t-shirt and some tattered jeans. He gave Brian a glare, one that told him to explain.

“I...I need some bandages. Or something. Alcohol, antibiotics...my friend is shot.”

They both paused, staring each other down. The guy with the gun whistled as he cocked his head back. Upon his cue arrived a much taller guy, however, lanky and nimble. He immediately reached for his pistol at his waistband. 

“Where?” asked the short one with a monotone voice. 

“He’s in my car.”

The other two in the house exchanged looks. “You got a car?”

“Yeah. I’ve got about three-quarters of a tank left.”

They both lowered their guns. “Take us to the car.”

And so Brian did. They walked back down the road, taking out the occasional Walker. The shorter guy kept his aim on Brian the whole time, though, pressing the tip of the gun between Brian’s shoulder blades. The other guy took bigger strides—either because he had such long legs, or he was eager to see what Dowoon and Brian’s Honda had in store. Brian noticed, and looked behind him at the short one. 

“We lost our friend,” he said quietly. He had a haunting grit to his voice. “You know your friend’s name?”

Brian swallowed hard. “Dowoon.”

The two exchanged glances again. “Not ours.”

Once they made it to the vehicle, Brian pointed towards the passenger’s side. He unlocked the doors and the short guy now aimed his gun at Dowoon. It only took one look at the boy to know he wouldn’t be any sort of threat.

Tall boy looked up. “They’re good.”

As their guns were lowered, they all gathered around Dowoon as he hunched over in pain. He was sweating bullets—his shirt clung to his skin, his hair was oily and damp. 

“How the hell are you still alive?” asked Tall boy. Dowoon gave him an annoyed expression. 

“Just give us some damn help, okay?”

Dowoon leaned his head back as he closed his eyes. Brian put a hand on his shoulder, which made the boy squirm. 

“He’s not infected, is he?” 

Brian let out a sigh. “No. He just got shot. We just need some stuff to hold him over.”

“Take us to Gwangju, and we’ll take care of your friend.”

And so they left Brian there. He had a sour feeling in his stomach, thinking about having to deal with Dowoon all the way to  _ Gwangju.  _ Hell, he didn’t even know where he was. 

Brian went into the back of the car and grabbed a half-empty water bottle from under the seat. He opened it for Dowoon, then instructed the boy to drink. He could barely open his mouth, and the water dribbled all over his shirt. The stench of the boy was unsettling—the combination of his rotting leg and the sweat coating his skin made Brian feel queasy. 

After what had felt like a decade, the two finally returned. Only this time, on a motorcycle, and with a box.

Without any hesitation, Short Guy threw the box into the backseat, then took out a roll of paper towel. He handed it to Brian, who was still kneeling next to Dowoon.

“Wrap that around his leg. Keeping that bandage on is gonna infect it,” he said. Dowoon started to unravel what cloth he had on the wound, the sound of scabbed skin ripping with the cloth making everyone cringe. Brian prepped the paper towel as Tall Guy kneeled next to him. 

“I’m Jae,” he said, looking at Dowoon, then at Brian. His gaze lingered on Brian a bit longer—maybe, because he didn’t want to look at the gory sight of Dowoon’s injury—but Brian didn’t mind it. The boy had beach-blonde hair and glasses. Brian was shocked they weren’t broken or anything yet. In fact, he looked rather clean compared to his accomplice.

“Nice to meet you, Jae,” Brian replied as he helped Dowoon. He held up the old makeshift bandage, throwing it behind them as he made a disgusted face. Jae looked closer at the wound. 

“Is there an exit wound?” Jae asked as he watched Brian wrap the towel around Dowoon’s leg. Over in the distance, Short Guy was fueling up his bike. From afar, he looked more intimidating. He had a sheer buzz cut for hair, and sported a few tattoos, at least in the spots that were visible. 

“Don’t know. It just hurts.” Dowoon seethed through his teeth as the fresh cloth touched his skin. Brian winced, as if he could sense the pain Dowoon was in, coursing through his own veins. The sight of the wound alone made his stomach turn.

Before Brian could wrap the towel around, Jae grabbed his hand, stopping him. Their eyes met and Brian’s face washed over with confusion. Jae looked over towards his partner, whistling to grab his attention.

“Sungjin,” he shouted. “Throw me your canteen.”

Without hesitation, Short Guy—presumably Sungjin—tossed over a small container, Jae catching it in his hands without any sort of struggle. Jae grabbed some of the paper towel, pouring a little water on the cloth then wiping it over Dowoon’s leg. The younger boy let out a painful noise of misery. Jae let out a shallow chuckle.

“Sorry,” he said as Brian grabbed the boy’s forearm. They finished patching up Dowoon.

“What exactly is in Gwangju?” asked Brian. He stood from his kneeling position, which sent a sore pain through his knees and ankles. He walked around to the other side of the car and leaned against the door.

“Some refugee camp. We were headed there, then got separated from one of our own. We think he’s probably headed there.”

Brian looked inside the car at Dowoon, who had his eyes closed as he held his thigh. 

“They could help your friend,” Sungjin added. “And besides. We’re running out of resources here.”

Sungjin started his bike as he secured the small bag on the back of his bike, tightening the straps around the seat. 

“Do you know how far it is?” Brian asked. Jae went back to the car, grabbing something from the box from earlier. He pulled out a tattered map. At first, seemingly useful, until Brian joined Jae in examining the paper which had its words faded beyond recognition. The roads printed in the ink looked just like streaks of yellow sun rays on the paper. Jae held the paper close to his eyes, examining further.

“We just need to head south. About 100 miles.” Jae folded up the map, putting it into the pocket of the flannel he wore. “It shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

And so they prepared for their trek. Brian hoped and prayed for the mileage on his car to do him some justice, for he really had no idea if what was left would get them to their destination. Either way, he was determined to get Dowoon some  _ real  _ help.

Jae drove with Brian and Dowoon, Sungjin led them on his motorcycle. Despite the peaceful feeling that surrounded the group, Brian clenched the wheel so hard the entire time. His fingers began to cramp up. His knuckles went white.

He didn’t relax until they reached the highway—littered with cars and bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suck at ending chapters sorry


End file.
